


I Want You To Remember

by LadyShadowphyre



Series: tumblr prompt basket [26]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Archangel Sam Winchester, Blood, Blood Drinking, Gen, Sam Has Powers, Sam Has Self-Worth Issues, Sam Winchester is Called Samael, Set During Season One, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 02:25:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13284966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyShadowphyre/pseuds/LadyShadowphyre
Summary: Sam was used to waking from nightmares of losing Jess by now. He wasn't used to having anyone but Dean there for the aftermath, and this stranger has a lot to tell him that drives the usual nightmares right out of his head.





	I Want You To Remember

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zetal (Rodinia)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rodinia/gifts).



> Written for the tumblr kiss prompt #22: sad kiss!

**S** AM WRENCHED HIMSELF out of sleep’s tenuous and uncomfortable grip with a gasp, the remembered image of Jess pinned to the ceiling and wreathed in flames superimposed over the dim hotel room for two agonizing heartbeats before it faded, leaving Sam gasping and shuddering in the dark, cheeks wet with tears and throat stripped raw from screams he hoped hadn’t actually escaped. Silence pressed in around him, heavy with the absence of Dean’s familiar snuffles and snores of sleep or his more familiar half-awake grumbles at being dragged to consciousness by Sam’s distress; his brother wasn’t back yet, and Sam ached with the lack of his brother to anchor him.

The ache sharpened as he stumbled from the bed towards the tiny bathroom, shaking fingers nudging the light switch upwards as he fumbled with the taps. Water burst from the spigot in time with the flare of yellow light from the bathroom’s faltering bulb. Sam’s stinging eyes flinched shut even as he shoved his hands into the spray, heedless of the temperature, and bent to splash a double handful of icy water over his face. Fully awake now, if no less shaken, Sam braced his hands on the edge of the sink and forced his lungs to draw in air and push it back out again without choking on acrid smoke thick with copper and sulfur that wasn’t even there.

“You’ve gotta stop doing this to yourself.”

A lifetime of hunter’s reflexes, rusty as they might be, had Sam whirling around and sending the nearest object to hand - the cheap hotel soap bar - flying towards the unexpected voice before he had even registered fully that there was somehow another person in the room behind him without the door opening. Fear clutched at Sam’s chest as his eyes tracked the path of the soap through the air to the man standing a few feet behind him in the motel room, the soap smacking too neatly into the open palm of the hand held ready to catch the impromptu projectile.

“Your reflexes aren’t as rusty as you think, by the way,” the man said, a wry sort of smile curving his lips even as Sam stared in something between shock and horror. “And your wards are still intact, although you could stand to add a few more. Salt lines don’t do much against things that can bypass thresholds by ignoring walls. They don’t work against regular humans, either.”

“What are you?” Sam rasped, eyes darting around the bathroom for some sort of weapon without looking away from the stranger in front of him for more than a second.

“As human as you are,” the man said. Sam stilled when the man laughed, a tiny self-deprecating chuckle. “Which I guess isn’t all that reassuring, depending on how much you know about yourself.”

As Sam watched, the man turned and walked to the night table in between the beds, deftly avoiding Dean’s duffle in the dark as if he knew exactly where not to step. Sam drifted silently out of the bathroom, watching warily as the man pulled open the drawer and retrieved the complimentary pad of paper and pen and started writing something. He was too far away for Sam to get a good look at what it was, and Sam’s bag was closer. He made it two steps towards the bag before the man spoke again. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t shoot or stab me. It won’t do anything except leave holes in my clothes that I’ll have to explain to Dean when I get back.”

“Who  _are_  you?” Sam asked, taking another slow step towards his bag without looking away from the strange man’s back.

“Depends on who you ask,” the man answered without looking up. “Some people call me Sam, some call me Samael... Dean still calls me Sammy, and I’ve given up trying to get him to do otherwise.”

“No,” Sam denied, shaking his head and stepping closer to his bag. One more step and he could reach his gun.... “You can’t possibly expect me to believe--”

“I’m you,” the man finished, straightening up and turning around. The light from the bathroom fell across his face, turning green eyes briefly gold. Sam swallowed.

“No...” he repeated weakly, shaking his head again.

“I know, it sounds impossible. I look too old to be you, shifters can only look like a person’s current age, and you haven’t encountered time travel yet. Here,” the man held out the sheet of paper he had been writing on. “These are some basic wards that you should memorize and put up before we talk too much more.”

“Why should I even believe you?” Sam burst out, fists clenching tight. This couldn’t be real, it couldn’t. The man shrugged.

“Good question. You don’t even know how you even expect me to prove myself because shifters know everything the person they shift to knows, and calling Dean - your Dean - would just put another itchy trigger finger into an already tense situation,” he said, still holding out the paper. “Wards, Sam. I’m only supposed to be here for half an hour.”

The mention of a time limit galvanized Sam and he grabbed the paper, trying not to show his surprise when the stranger provided no resistance. Eyeing the man warily, he finished the trek to his duffle and pulled out a silver knife, holding it at the ready before he lowered his eyes to the paper. The blue ink of the hotel pen had gotten something of a workout in the making of the sigils that marched down one side of the paper. Sam swallowed tightly at the sight of his own familiar handwriting scrawling out brief descriptions of each sigil’s purpose until his eye caught on one specific word. “ _Angel_  wards?” he gasped.

“Enochian wards are stronger than just about any other wards out there against demons,” the man - if he  _was_  a man - said dryly. Sam shot him a narrow look, and he held up his hands. “I swear by the Light of Heaven, no harm will come to you or Dean from using those wards, Sam, but I’ve only got twenty minutes left.”

“You’re going to explain once these are up,” Sam demanded, just short of petulant, but he cut his hand and began carefully tracing out the different sigils in a line along the nearest wall of the motel room. Despite his impatience, he took just enough time over each to make sure he got the lines exactly right. He hesitated over the last, eyeing his current visitor. “Truth compulsion?”

“So you know I’m not lying to you,” the man said, lips twitching upwards. “It’s not normally part of the ward schematic, but under the circumstances it can’t hurt. Though if you decide you want to ask Dean a few pointed questions while it’s up....”

“So it works on anyone in the room?” Sam asked with a frown. “For how long?”

“Anyone who enters the room, and until they leave the room or you break the sigil,” was the response. Sam hesitated, but went ahead and drew the sigil carefully over the floral wallpaper. He jumped when another hand brushed the edge of his cut and then stared at the smooth, unbroken skin. “What are you?” he whispered again, slowly raising his eyes to look at the man who looked way too much like him for comfort.

“Just as human as you are,” Samael said softly, a small, sad smile crossing his face briefly. “The alignment’s a little different than anyone thinks, though. You’re me, I know you’ve felt something off inside you for a really long time, like something pulling you left of center.”

“These powers....” Sam whispered.

“Are yours alone,” Samael finished. “Yellow-Eyes may try and claim he gave them to you that night, but that’s a lie. You wouldn’t have these powers if they weren’t in you from birth. All he did was stick a control lever in you so he could turn them on and off.”

“How do I get rid of them?” Sam asked, then blinked as he realized Samael had spoken the words in unison with him. Samael smirked slightly.

“I’m you, remember?” he said, almost playfully, before the smile fell. “You can try not using them, though it won’t work too well. Any time Dean is in danger, those powers will jump to be used, because we will do  _anything_  to save our big brother... and that’s what Hell is counting on, along with  _Dean_  being willing to do anything, even sell his soul, to keep you alive and safe.”

“H-how do I get the... control lever out?” Sam asked shakily. Samael didn’t look surprised at the question. Sam guessed he must have been expecting it.

“The control lever was set with blood that Azazel - Yellow-Eyes - dripped into our mouth the night he killed Mom,” came the staggering answer. “To counter it, you need to ingest it’s direct antithesis - angel blood - from an angel willing to direct the purge of the demon’s poison.” Samael’s hand, which had not let go of Sam’s at all, squeezed gently. “Are you sure you want this? Once it’s gone, your powers will be a lot stronger, but also difficult to control. You’ll need help, and Dean won’t be able to help you. Not the way he’ll want to.”

“You’re telling me that I have d-demon blood in me, and you really think I don’t want it out?” Sam asked incredulously. “I thought you were supposed to be me!”

“If either of us was what we were supposed to be, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” Samael said. Sam scowled, pursing his lips in displeasure, and causing Samael to blink, then snort. “Now I know why Dean calls that expression a ‘bitchface’.”

“In case it wasn’t clear,” Sam gritted out, “ _yes,_  Samael, I want the demon blood purged.”

“Okay, okay,” Samael shook his head and stepped right up into Sam’s personal space, the hand not holding his coming up to cup the back of Sam’s head as Sam froze. Samael smiled softly and tilted his head up to brush a feather light kiss across Sam’s forehead. “Just a piece of advice, though?  _Never_  say the word ‘yes’ to an angel.”

Before Sam could draw breath to ask why not, Samael covered his lips with his own. They were dry and slightly chapped, and Sam automatically flicked out his tongue to wet them as well as his own. There was a huff of breath, a small vibration, and then the press of lips became firmer, another tongue pushing its way past Sam’s lips into his mouth. Thick liquid that tasted like copper and tingled like mint and ice followed, filling Sam’s mouth relentlessly until he had to swallow or choke on it. The ice spread from his mouth down his throat and into his chest, racing outwards to fill his entire body. Sam thought he could see the shadows of huge wings spread wide against the far wall behind Samael before the world went white.

When he could finally open his eyes again, he was somehow back in his bed and the room was empty.


End file.
